


fried eggs and cold mornings

by lithality



Category: SGUIDE
Genre: Coping with trauma, Fluff, M/M, Morning, Not Canon Compliant, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Canon, first, they live here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithality/pseuds/lithality
Summary: The game left ripples in its wake. But sometimes, recovery is a little easier with people you trust.
Relationships: Hale Ogygia/Finn Ladom, Silas Langit/Hale Ogygia
Kudos: 2





	fried eggs and cold mornings

Hale rises with the sun. 

It only makes sense. In Fiddler, it was only ever safe to sleep when you’re sure that everyone else is asleep too. Sleeping too long means risking break-ins, no matter how little you actually own, because desperate people are dangerous, and who in Fiddler isn’t desperate? Sleeping too little means being off your guard unless you can scrounge up some coffee, or some other addictive stimulant drug. The safety of Hale’s own home (in the loosest possible definition of the word) was almost entirely dependent on it being hidden from anyone who might want to loot it (and maybe slash his neck to guarantee the favor wouldn’t be returned). 

Hale doesn’t miss Fiddler. 

But goddamn if it hasn’t left its mark on him, not even counting all the scars. So he rises with the sun, and if he can’t go back to sleep, that’s all well and good, because there’s shit to get done, and Hale’s going to do it.

After the game, he didn’t have a home to return to. Well, he never really had that much of a home in the first place. And Finn had gone so white at the prospect of returning to the island alone that Hale actually felt bad. So he awkwardly offered to move in. The brilliant grin he received in response was enough to make his chest feel warm, and the hug tied his stomach into knots. 

He looks down. Finn’s arms are wrapped loosely around his torso, as usual, and his cheek is smushed against his shoulder. His mouth is just  _ slightly _ agape, and his freckle-dusted cheeks are tinged with pink. Hale’s gotten over himself enough to first realize, and then  _ admit _ that the sight makes his heart do somersaults. He feels the corners of his lips lift, something he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to, and makes the split-second decision to duck down and press a kiss to Finn’s hair. Finn, still fast asleep, smiles and wiggles closer. The arms around his middle tighten.

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that either. He’s not sure he wants to. God, how things change.

Maybe just a few more minutes.

No, he can’t do that. He has to keep practicing cooking. He never learned to do it before. He takes a deep breath and allows himself five more seconds of rest before giving Finn’s forehead a final gentle kiss and carefully extracting himself from his grip. Finn shifts, but doesn’t wake.

He makes his way to the kitchen. They still have some eggs, right? Their friends on the mainland send supply drops their way every so often, and he’s pretty sure they get it all for free. Being the saviors of the world is good for something after all. He runs a tired hand through his hair. The next drop is due in a few days, which means they’re down to everything that none of them are particularly fond of, and everything that they do like, they’re rationing. Oh well. He’ll make do. He always does. 

He’s surprised to see Silas already seated at the kitchen table. It doesn’t look like he’s even registered Hale’s presence. Or much of anything else, really. He’s staring at the table, distant and weirdly apathetic. Hale frowns. 

Before the game, Hale didn’t really believe he’d fill his quadrants at all. Maybe he’d get a pitch relationship, if he was lucky, because hate was really all he was good for. Giving and receiving. That’s what he believed, at least. Not that he really minded, then, quadrants would get in the way of survival. Over the course of the game, he somehow filled three. 

Well. He winces. Two. He still sees Painon fall sometimes. But that’s nothing new. 

Two quadrants, neither that he ever expected. 

At some point during the game, he and Silas got to talking. They’d never been close before everything. Hale didn’t like cheerful people. He didn’t understand what they had to be cheerful about. Finn changed that. So he and Silas got to talking, and once Hale got over himself, he realized that he was actually… enjoying himself. Emotional vulnerability is an addictive drug, he found out, and it didn’t take long before they fell into moirallegiance. When Hale decided to move in with Finn, Silas wasn’t far behind, and Finn was just excited to have more company. 

Being Silas’ moirail, he’s come to learn a lot about him, including his sleeping habits. Waking up at the crack of dawn isn’t one of them. 

Something’s wrong. Hale squeezes his shoulder briefly as he passes, and Silas starts, but otherwise doesn’t respond. 

Fuck the supply drops. Fuck the rationing policy. He’s gonna make something good. 

He pulls a carton of eggs out of the fridge. Potatoes, seasoning, oil, sharp knife, hot pan. Cut, fry, sizzle, season. The potatoes are a little crispier than he’d intended, and the eggs aren’t perfectly cooked, but it’s good. It’s still good. He puts it all on a plate and sets it in front of Silas before sliding into the chair opposite him. Silas doesn’t move. 

“Hey,” Hale says quietly. Silas jumps and looks down, eyes widening a bit at the sight of the food. “Made you something.” He pauses. “You okay?” 

Silas blinks a few times. Shakes his head, laughs--but in that raspy, empty kind of way. “Thanks,” he whispers, picking up the fork and stabbing halfheartedly at the eggs. Hale’s frown deepens. That’s not an answer. But he’s not one to push, so he just laces his fingers together and watches Silas eat. It’s slow-going. He fumbles with his fork every few minutes, distracted and exhausted. 

“How long have you been awake,” Hale says. 

Silas shrugs. “Well, uh, heh--” There’s that hollow laugh again. “Few hours, I guess, I don’t know, I kinda lost track. Time is--time is hard.” 

Hale grunts his acknowledgement. And, again, there’s a long stretch of silence. 

“Are you okay?” He finally asks again, just as Silas is finishing his plate. His face screws up in an expression of mingled pain, regret, and--is that fear? Hale backtracks. “Hey. Uh. Don’t worry about it, okay? You want to go sit on the couch together?” Silas presses his lips together and nods. 

The game hit them all hard. Some worse than others. Some knew how to cope better than the rest. 

Hale swore he’d protect them--Silas, Finn--and he does. In every way he can, he does. But he can’t protect them from nightmares, no matter how much he wants to. 

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, and gets up to take Silas’s plate to the sink. The water running over his hands as he washes it makes him shiver. He still doesn’t like water, much. He quickly sets it out to dry and moves back to Silas’s side. “Ready?” he says, extending a hand. 

Silas nods again, not entirely there, and takes it. Yeah, this isn’t going to work. Hale hauls him to his feet and pulls him into a tight hug that lifts him into the air. Silas practically  _ melts _ into the touch, all the tension in his shoulders completely dissolving. He wraps his arms around Hale’s neck and buries his face in his shoulder. And if he lets out a single quiet sob, Hale doesn’t comment on it. He just carries him over to the sofa, where he lays down and throws a blanket over the both of them. 

Today’s not going to be a productive day, but that’s alright. There’s always tomorrow. That’s something he can say, now. There’s no one out to kill them, now. No survive today so you can live tomorrow. 

“You need anything?” he says. 

Silas shakes his head. “This… fine,” he mumbles. 

“Alright.”

He closes his eyes and combs through Silas’s hair with his fingers. Silas’s breathing slows. It took him almost no time to fall back asleep. Who knows how long it had been since he first woke up. 

Maybe this is nice, actually. The sofa’s comfortable. It’s not like he can really move. Not that he wants to. 

Oh, how things change. 

Hale is strangely okay with that. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
